So i’m waffling on going

So i’m waffling on going to this hip-hop club tonight. Through my pauvre perusing of listings, it seems to be the closest and handiest place for me to shake what my momma gave me. But of course it’s Sunday night and i’m a bit fearful of waking up for work in the morning. And that’s not even accounting for how hard it is to get out of bed considering my apt is fweezing. My aunt gave me a portable radiator which has helped a lot. It’s even broken through 60F in the bedroom today – woo hoo. (BTW, i am not kidding about being happy – 60 is bliss at this moment).

I’ve cleaned for probably a total of 12 hours this weekend and my apartment is immaculate. Immaculate. Uh-huh. Last night i wandered around the right bank in search of lone fun-sters that i’ve definitely seen there before. They weren’t there but i could chalk that up to the below freezing temperature that seems to have infected Paris in the past few days. I ended up (after a very long walk) at the dutch bar, nursing a pint of Grolsch and chatting with another regular in painfully broken English. I kept telling him to speak French but he pretty much refused. And i think in this case oddly enough, my French was probably better than his English.

Also i have slept for 11-12 hours a night for the last three nights in a row. [shrug] Sometime’s a girl’s just tired i guess.

So, i bought a plant today. For someone reason, to me buying a plant is to a place what leaving a toothbrush at a lover’s house is to a relationship. It’s kind of like that “Ok we’re gonna be together for awhile now. Right? Right???” I went through this same back and forth about buying plants for my last place. Sure enough i got laid off the week after the roots told hold. Thing is, i love plants, i mean i loooove ‘em. So i have a hard time leaving them. So i have a hard time buying them. As an act of self-defiance i bought a plant on my first day to work here in Paris. It actually was barely alive when i came back from Istanbul because no one thought to water him (his name’s Pepe le Plant and no one gets it). When i quizzed my coworkers on this (all male french engineers) they said, “Oh you know vee are men, vee don’t vater zee plants”. This past time i left for New York i gave them clear instructions. And they were very good about it. Funny thing is i would get an e-mail or an ICQ every other day or so from one of them proudly declaring that he watered him, awaiting effusive praise i suppose. Ohh zee men…

— In the meantime plans for hip-hop tonight have been thwarted but plans for hip-hop on Wednesday have been tentatively made —

So anyway, she’s a cute lil thing with lil red flowers. I’ve already decided she’s a she but haven’t come up with a name yet. Go ahead and make a suggestion on the comments box. This either means i’ll be here for awhile or get sent packing next week. Who’s taking bets?

FOUND magazine- A 21 Balloons

FOUND magazine- A 21 Balloons Production.

Found from the *best* list, this stuff is really cool. I guarantee you’ll page through the entire site, and then wish there was more.

I thought i would

I thought i would just post a picture (i have no scanner) of the cover (the cover) of Nova’s monthly nightlife guide to Paris.

WoW.

Sometimes i do love this city…

Holy mother of… my old

Holy mother of… my old roommate, Sebastian, is quoted in this weeks cover story in The Village Voice about Brooklyn’s night life. I guess he promotes the coolest space in dumbo now, which is completely baffling to one who remembers him as physically unable to empty an ashtray or run some water over his crusted mugs before the tea-bag became permanently sealed to its edge. I still hold him responsible for forcing me out of probably the coolest space i’ll ever live in by sheer intolerable laziness. Well there was also the poisonous exhaust fumes that seeped in from the dump-trucks in the garage just underneath us but negativity is so much easier focussed on people. Yes roommate bitterness never really goes away.

Meanwhile i’m back in Paris as of yesterday. It was a slight shock to the system for 2 reasons. One being that it is colder than a rat’s ass. Secondly i am re-acclimating myself to the world of sketchy communication. After a full 12 days of small talk, big talk, complimenting strangers on their footwear, ordering food with complete authority, even asking for a pair of pants in a smaller size, it’s back to mistaking the question, “Are you ringing?” with “Do you smell?”. I did that last night and smell and ring are very similarly pronounced, ok!?

New York was great. It was hard to leave. You never realize what you have until you don’t. Sho ’nuff. Except there is this one majorly huge thing that Paris has that New York doesn’t : a job for me. My week in the big apple was no different from all my other recent weeks in that there were a few more people i knew laid off. No one seems to be visibly distressed but me. Well maybe there are a few distressed folks, but not enough of them and not distressed enough either. Bloomberg won the mayoral election. Honestly i haven’t followed the election at all, but i am only slightly less disconcerted than when Dubya “won”. It just seems so… so… wrong.

Since my apartment has just about enough heat to warm up a small closet, i’ve decided to do a major cleaning to get the blood circulating this weekend. I’ll have to do an all out search for cleaning supplies, but it is a necessity. That and trying to find myself a set of french lessons on CD. I no longer own a tape deck. Even the words sound quaint, tape deck, tape deck, tape deck. Let those words sooth you into a relaxed state… tape deck, tape deck, tape deck

So much for me thinking

So much for me thinking Paris winters are going to be better than New York’s. It’s ‘posed to snow tonight… brrrr…

The Smurf Name Generator me?

The Smurf Name Generator

me? Insatiable Smurf

That sounds about right.

via Brainsluice

i just went to the

i just went to the post office to send my final (hopefully) piece of correspondence relating to my jaywalking infraction in LA. I need to send the damn thing certified mail so these people will get out of my life. I walked over to the Wall Street Station. It’s friday at noon, hell hour at the post office normally. It dawns on me that a post office is kind of the last place i want to be right now. As i walk in i realize it’s the last place anyone wants to be right now. I am the only customer. The Only Customer! This is unreal. I have spent 20 minutes waiting in line at this post office just to use the stamp machine. The Stamp Machine!

“Wow, so deserted?”, i comment to the lady. She shrugs. I shrug back.

All of Wall St is strangely deserted actually. There’s more people than on a saturday, but nothing like the lunch throngs that made me miserable in August. Barely a line at “the good sandwich place”. Ordinarily i’d look at the bright side, less lines, less agrivation, more room. But i really can’t. The bright side isn’t really very bright. Especially after exhaling a lungful of burnt skyscraper. Burnt skyscraper smell is awful, and still pretty intense down here. When i get off the C train at Broadway Nassau it’s a straight shot to the bottom of the burnt south tower. And the road is all white-ish yellow-ish with ash. The rain and street sweepers wash it away, all it takes is a light breeze to bring it back.

I walked along broadway to look the other day. There were lots of lookers, lots of cameras. I couldn’t be pissy at the tourists, after all i am one myself now, sorta.

As i walk to “the good sandwich place”, i try to take in the 30 or 40 story skyscrapers that crowd the narrow streets. They’re immense already. It’s all pretty heavy. And i get the impression that people here are done talking, done taking it all in.

  • Nov 2
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Found this page when hunting

Found this page when hunting for the latest Surfer’s Serials. It’s kinda nice to be able to just express yourself to no one particular, dontcha think?

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